Dead to the World (Sookie Stackhouse #4)(55)
Author: Charlaine Harris

"What’s happened?" he asked. "I can tell something is frightening you."

"We have to go to Shreveport now," I said. "We’re already past the time Pam said on the phone. Tonight’s the night we face off against Hallow and her witches."

"Then you must stay here," he said immediately.

"No," I said gently, putting my hand on his cheek. "No, baby, I have to go with you." I didn’t tell him Pam thought using me in the battle would be a good idea. I didn’t tell him he was going to be used as a fighting machine. I didn’t tell him I was sure someone was going to die tonight; maybe quite a few someones, human and Were and vampire. It was probably the last time I would use an endearment when I addressed Eric. It was perhaps the last time Eric would wake up in my house. One of us might not survive this night, and if we did, there was no way to know how we’d be changed.

The drive to Shreveport was silent. We’d washed up and dressed without talking much, either. At least seven times, I thought of heading back to Bon Temps, with or without Eric.

But I didn’t.

Eric’s skills did not include map reading, so I had to pull over to check my Shreveport map to plot our course to 714 Parchman, something I hadn’t foreseen before we got to the city. (I’d somehow expected Eric to remember the directions, but of course, he didn’t.)

"Your word of the day was ‘annihilate,’" he told me cheerfully.

"Oh. Thanks for checking." I probably didn’t sound very thankful. "You’re sounding pretty excited about all this."

"Sookie, there’s nothing like a good fight," he said defensively.

"That depends on who wins, I would think."

That kept him quiet for a few minutes, which was fine. I was having trouble negotiating the strange streets in the darkness, with so much on my mind. But we finally got to the right street, and the right house on that street. I had always pictured Pam and Chow living in a mansion, but the vampires had a large ranch-style house in an upper-middle-class suburb. It was a trimmed-lawn, bike-riding, lawn-sprinkling street, from what I could tell.

The light by the driveway was on at 714, and the three-car garage around at the rear was full. I drove up the slope to the concrete apron that was placed for overflow parking. I recognized Alcide’s truck and the compact car that had been parked in Colonel Flood’s carport.

Before we got out of my old car, Eric leaned over to kiss me. We looked at each other, his eyes wide and blue, the whites so white you could hardly look away, his golden hair neatly brushed. He’d tied it back with one of my elastic bands, a bright blue one. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a new flannel shirt.

"We could go back," he said. In the dome light of the car, his face looked hard as stone. "We could go back to your house. I can stay with you always. We can know each other’s bodies in every way, night after night. I could love you." His nostrils flared, and he looked suddenly proud. "I could work. You would not be poor. I would help you."

"Sounds like a marriage," I said, trying to lighten the atmosphere. But my voice was too shaky.

"Yes," he said.

And he would never be himself again. He would be a false version of Eric, an Eric cheated out of his true life. Providing our relationship (such as it was) lasted, he would stay the same; but I wouldn’t.

Enough with the negative thinking, Sookie, I told myself. I would be a total idiot to pass up living with this gorgeous creature for however long. We actually had a good time together, and I enjoyed Eric’s sense of humor and his company, to say nothing of his lovemaking. Now that he’d lost his memory, he was lots of uncomplicated fun.

And that was the fly in the ointment. We would have a counterfeit relationship, because this was the counterfeit Eric. I’d come full loop.

I slid out of the car with a sigh. "I’m a total idiot," I said as he came around the back of the car to walk with me to the house.

Eric didn’t say anything. I guess he agreed with me.

"Hello," I called, pushing open the door after my knock brought no response. The garage door led into the laundry room and from there into the kitchen.

As you would expect in a vampire home, the kitchen was absolutely clean, because it wasn’t used. This kitchen was small for a house the size of this one. I guess the real estate agent had thought it was her lucky day – her lucky night – when she’d shown it to vampires, since a real family who cooked at home would have trouble dealing with a kitchen the size of a king bed. The house had an open floor plan, so you could see over the breakfast bar into the "family" room – in this case, the main room for a mighty odd family. There were three open doorways that probably led into the formal living room, the dining room, and the bedroom area.

Right at the moment, this family room was crammed with people. I got the impression, from the glimpses of feet and arms, that more people were standing in the open doorways into the other rooms.

The vampires were there: Pam, Chow, Gerald, and at least two more I recognized from Fangtasia. The two-natured were represented by Colonel Flood, red-haired Amanda (my big fan), the teenage boy with spiked brown hair (Sid), Alcide, Culpepper, and (to my disgust) Debbie Pelt. Debbie was dressed in the height of fashion – at least her version of fashion – which seemed a little out of place for a meeting of this kind. Maybe she wanted to remind me that she had a very good job working at an advertising agency.

Oh, good. Debbie’s presence made the night just about perfect.

The group I didn’t recognize had to be the local witches, by the process of elimination. I assumed that the dignified woman sitting on the couch was their leader. I didn’t know what her correct title would be – coven master? Mistress? She was in her sixties, and she had iron gray hair. An African American with skin the color of coffee, she had brown eyes that looked infinitely wise and also skeptical. She’d brought a pale young man with glasses, who wore pressed khakis with a striped shirt and polished loafers. He might work in Office Depot or Super One Foods in some kind of managerial position, and his kids would think that he was out bowling or attending some church meeting on this cold January night. Instead, he and the young female witch beside him were about to embark on a fight to the death.

The remaining two empty chairs were clearly intended for Eric and me.

"We expected you earlier," Pam said crisply.

"Hi, good to see you, too, thanks for coming on such short notice," I muttered. For one long moment, everyone in the room looked at Eric, waiting for him to take charge of the action, as he had for years. And Eric looked back at them blankly. The long pause began to be awkward.